


To All a Good Night

by DelphiPsmith



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Crackers, Community: hoggywartyxmas, Crows, Dragons, F/M, Felix Felicis, Floo Network, Foxes, Hogwarts, Holidays, Humor, Illnesses, Potions, Reindeer, Traditions, Yule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28959096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelphiPsmith/pseuds/DelphiPsmith
Summary: Just when things seem dark as a crow's wing, life takes a lucky turn.
Relationships: Minerva McGonagall/Severus Snape
Kudos: 33





	To All a Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2020 [Hoggywartyxmas](http://hoggywartyxmas.livejournal.com) over on LiveJournal. Thanks to Mr Psmith for beta reading and final pun approval, despite remaining firmly unconverted to the idea of MM/SS. The [Inn at Loch Tummel](http://www.theinnatlochtummel.com) is a real place, and since I can't go there myself I'm delighted to be sending two of my favorite people.

************

_Floo Season_

Minerva glanced round the table at the smaller-than-usual group that constituted the present minimal staff of Hogwarts and felt a wave of gratitude for the diligence and dedication of her colleagues. Whatever good Hogwarts had managed to extract out of these past difficult months, it was due far more to them than to herself. She rapped gently on the table to call them to order.

"As this is our last staff meeting until January, I want to begin by commending all of you for how well you have coped this term," she began. "This outbreak of crowpox—"

"Minerva, do call it by its proper name," objected Professor Grubbly-Plank, taking a biscuit from the plate in the center of the table. "Crows have a difficult enough time of it, no need to blacken—"

"Pun intended?" Severus inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"—their reputations further."

"Quite right, Wilhelmina, I do apologize," said Minerva with a decisive nod. "This outbreak of Corvid, everyone sprouting feathers and beaks left and right, has been enough to drive a person distracted." She poured a cup of tea and passed the pot to Flitwick on her right. "Poppy, would you give us an update on the current situation?'

"Of course, Headmistress," said the Healer, consulting the sheets of parchment containing her notes. "As of yesterday Scotland has more than a thousand active cases, though the spread has slowed. While some are quite mild, causing merely a few feathers across the forehead or the occasional dry 'Caw!' others are much more severe. St. Mungo's has run out of beds – or rather cages – and is turning away all but the worst cases. Currently they are caring for more than a hundred witches and wizards who have completely transformed into jackdaws, ravens, and so on."

"I have heard that Kingsley Shacklebolt is among them, is that so?" Flitwich asked soberly.

"A New Caledonian crow," Professor Grubby-Plank interjected. "Quite a splendid specimen he is, too, or so I hear. Beautiful plumage!"

Madam Pomfrey frowned. "The plumage doesn't enter into it," she said reprovingly. "We must all hope that he, and the many others who are stricken, recover before their memories of being human are entirely lost."

"Oh, I don't know," the Magical Creatures professor said tartly. "I can think of quite a few who would make much better birds than people. Not Kingsley, he's a good sort, but—"

"Be that as it may, Wilhelmina," Minerva said firmly. "Do let Poppy finish." 

"Beauxbatons, like Hogwarts, continues teaching by Floo and has not yet made a decision about next term," Poppy went on. "Durmstrang has announced they will welcome students back in the spring term. They appear to be assuming that recent reports of a potential preventive treatment will be borne out. Meanwhile the modified Bubble-Head Charm is the most effective means we have of reducing transmission, so we must all continue wearing them any time we leave the grounds." 

"Thank you, Poppy. We will of course do so." Minerva glanced at the agenda. "One other piece of news: several employees of the Department of Magical Communication will be receiving the Order of Merlin Second Class for their rapid redesign of the Floo Network to enable large hearths to support multiple Floo Calls for classes, and in particular for connecting our Muggle students' households. As you know, there was some resistance to that from, er, certain quarters--"

Pomona let out a cough that sounded remarkably like "Malfoy!"

"--but fortunately the Minister was able to overrule it before he was taken ill. There is no reason that some students should be disadvantaged simply for lack of ability to communicate with us, as I'm sure you will all agree." She squeezed a bit of lemon into her tea, added milk, and stirred. "Now, how have classes been going?"

"Been difficult, no question," Pomona admitted. "Teaching entirely by Floo, well, it's not at all the same as being together in the greenhouses. For one thing, judging the right amount of Floo powder for a specific length of time takes a fine hand. I can't count the number of times I've had a student simply vanish halfway through class."

"Not to mention unscrupulous sellers of substandard product that can't support our needs," sniffed Severus. "It will surprise no one, I am sure, to learn that the name of Mundungus Fletcher is often mentioned whenever a student's Floo freezes up."

Flitwick nodded. "Beyond that, there's the problem of how to be sure their parents aren't doing the work for them. That's very difficult with Charms. One young Hufflepuff I'd thought was remarkably talented with cleaning charms, but it turned out his mother was standing just out of view and casting them all for him." He laughed. "In that respect, our Muggleborns are getting a much more valuable experience!"

"On the other hand, they have been at a severe disadvantage with Potions, since they rarely have even a basic cauldron at home," Severus pointed out. "In fact Potions in general has been a particularly thorny subject to teach remotely. It is difficult to ensure a consistent hands-on experience when some students do not have access to appropriate equipment, and many of the ingredients for more advanced work are quite expensive. As a result, we have had to put together kits from the school stores and owl them to needy students."

Pomona whistled. "That has to have cost a pretty sickle! We can't keep that up forever."

"Fortunately, an anonymous donor has stepped forward," Minerva said. "Their gift will amply provide for supplies and equipment for the entire spring term, if necessary."

"Well, I call that generous," Pomona exclaimed with a glance at the Potions master, who was gazing studiously out the window at the early December snow. "How much did they give?"

"Five thousand galleons."

"What a coincidence," Flitwick remarked, the very picture of innocence. "Isn't that exactly the amount that comes with the Order of Merlin First Class, Severus?" 

Severus gave him a withering look. "If you are suggesting that I would part with a single knut to benefit the dunderheaded, you are sadly mistaken."

Flitwick merely smiled and sipped his tea, feeling that his suspicions had been entirely confirmed.

"This term has placed extraordinary demands on all of us, and you have all done splendidly," Minerva continued. "Each of you volunteered to be isolated here in the castle, but I know it has not been easy. You have my deepest thanks." She shook her head with a sigh. "I had thought that not having students physically present in the castle would be less onerous, but such has not been the case at all. Even I admit to being more tired and less satisfied than usual for the end of term."

At this uncharacteristic statement, Severus cast the Headmistress a keen look. She _did_ look tired – more than tired, exhausted. He knew how hard she worked, and mentally cursed once again the woman's fierce Scottish independence. But there was nothing to be done. Despite the undeniable attraction between them, he knew that she would rebuff any attempt on his part to move beyond a merely professional relationship, as she had in the past. It was...regrettable, to say the least.

"Even the ghosts, I think, feel their absence," Flitwick observed. "Sir Nicholas and the others have faded considerably due to the lack of interaction with students. And without the Bloody Baron to keep him in line, Peeves has become more unmanageable than usual." 

"Filch is the only one who really seems to enjoy the solitude," Pomona said with a chuckle, "and I even heard him complaining the other day – about not having any students to complain about!"

"It will be interesting to see what effect postponing the Sorting has, though," said Poppy thoughtfully. "I know every First Year looks forward to it."

" _Tis true the Floo is useful  
and lets me see a face,  
but I must sit upon the head  
to judge a student's place,_" interjected the Hat mournfully.

"Albus did once say that he thought we sorted too soon," Severus murmured absently.

A brief and (at least in most cases) respectful silence fell at the mention of the old Wizard's name, then Minerva resumed. "The final item on the agenda is what to do about the annual Hogwarts Yule party."

"What do you mean, what to do about it?" Pomona demanded, startled. "You're not suggesting we give it a miss!"

"It would be a sad thing to break with tradition," Minerva admitted.

"Is 'because it's tradition' really a good enough reason to do something?" Flitwick said doubtfully.

"Sometimes, yes. Traditions bind us together, strengthen us, link us to the past and the future. They are..." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "They are the stitches in the cloak of life."

Pomona raised her teacup. "Well said, Minerva."

An unusual softness spread over the Headmistress' face. "When I was a child, every Christmas Eve my father would recite the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke, in that glorious resonant language of King James. 'And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them...' My brothers and I knew it by heart and didn't need to hear it, yet we looked forward to that shared experience every year."

"Our family traditions were a bit more pagan," Wilhelmina said. "Holly for protection, bonfires, that sort of thing. We'd put the hugest log we had onto the fire just before midnight on Longest Night so as to keep the fire burning until dawn, and save the remains to start next year's fire."

"We did something similar," Flitwick said. "Keeping the fire going, I mean. Though it didn't have to be just one log, and we didn't save it. Then at dawn all eight of us would go outside and sing a carol as the sun rose." He gave a rueful smile. "I wish I could recall the tune, but it's been so long."

"Singing to the sun?" said Poppy quizzically. "What a peculiar idea. Whatever for?"

The little man scratched his chin. "I suppose the idea was that after such a lengthy darkness, the return of light deserved a little celebration." 

"Exactly," said Wilhelmina. "Sol Invictus, the unconquerable sun. Same reason we kept the fire going all night."

"For us the best tradition was my father's fruitcake," Poppy said dreamily. "It was the only time my mother let him into the kitchen, and the results were always delectable."

Pomona smacked her lips. "I do love a good fruitcake. What about you, Severus? Any fires, fruitcakes, festivities in the Snape household?"

"We had no traditions," Severus said shortly, then his face softened. "Well no, that's not quite true. My mother used to read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas' to me every Christmas Eve."

"So did mine!" Minerva said, her tired face brightening. "Did you lie awake half the night listening for 'the prancing and pawing of each little hoof' and plotting how to stow away in the sleigh?"

"I did indeed," he admitted with a faint smile. "And was vastly disappointed each time."

"I think we need traditions this year, more than ever," Pomona said decidedly. "So many things have been upended, cancelled, topsy turvy. Whatever we can keep the same, we should."

"I think we must defer to Poppy as our medico-magical expert." Minerva turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Poppy, what do you think?"

"It's difficult to say." Poppy pursed her lips. "As of today, Ministry guidelines would allow such a gathering, with proper precautions. But we don't know what will happen in the next few weeks. Things may change for the worse."

"Or for the better, of course," interjected Pomona cheerfully.

"And it is easier to cancel at the last minute than to plan at the last minute," Flitwick pointed out. 

"That settles it, then," Minerva said. "We will proceed with preparations for the usual festivities, with strict adherence to Ministry guidelines. If circumstances change between now and the twenty-second, we will adjust accordingly."

************

_Robes and Foxes_

Severus pushed open the door of Madam Malkin's, pausing to observe the large sign which read, " _Bubble-Head Charms required for all patrons, NO EXCEPTIONS._ " His own was firmly in place, as it always was the moment he stepped off the Hogwarts grounds.

Madam Malkin greeted him hospitably, her voice slightly muffled by the bubble enclosing her own face. "Hello, Severus. Ready for your final fitting?"

The simple inquiry roused mixed emotions in him. It had been so long since he'd bought new clothes – after all, vanity did not come naturally to a man accustomed to hiding in plain sight. "I suppose so?" he said, and was immediately irritated at himself for turning the statement into a question.

The plump little woman laughed and disappeared into the back of the shop. "Are you quite sure you won't consider another color?" she called teasingly. "A nice deep green, perhaps?"

"Black," he said firmly. "I'm far too old to tart myself up like a Beauxbatons debutante."

She reappeared, her arms filled with fabric that resembled shadow given substance. "No one would mistake you for a debutante, Severus." She lifted the robes and dropped them over his head, the Bubble-Head flexing obligingly to allow the fabric to slip past and settle on his shoulders. "Well?"

She gestured towards the three-way mirror and Severus eyed himself with some trepidation. He hadn't intended to purchase new dress robes -- they seemed a ridiculous extravagance -- but after donating his Order of Merlin funds to the school (about which he had sworn Minerva to secrecy; drat Flitwick!) he'd found he had a couple of hundred galleons left and suddenly thought, Why not? 

The fact that he'd overheard Minerva commenting favorably on Flitwick's rather dashing formalwear had, of course, had no bearing whatsoever on his decision.

Now, seeing the outcome, he had to admit that his galleons had been well spent. The fabric was raw silk: richly textured, densely black, and with a silvery sheen where the light struck it. A black-on-black pattern of interlacing knotwork was woven around the hem and the Slytherin house crest was worked on the back in black thread, accented with jet beads which caught glints of light as he turned this way and that.

"My, but you do look splendid, if I do say so myself," Madam Malkin said, putting her hands on her ample hips and looking him up and down with great satisfaction. "You'll put Lucius Malfoy himself to shame."

"No he won't," said a voice behind them, and they both turned to see Professor Flitwick, a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ under his arm and an expression of suppressed glee on his face. "Haven't you heard?"

He opened the paper and displayed the front page. Prominently featured just below the fold was a photograph of Lucius Malfoy, wearing a pained expression, and two distinctly disgruntled-looking white crows. Above it the headline read, "Malfoy family quarantined with severe Corvid."

"Oh dear," said Madam Malkin, her tone full of sympathy, as one of the crows gave Lucius' hand a vicious jab with its beak. "Poor Draco. I do hope he and Narcissa recover."

"They're expected to," Flitwick said. "But it seems they caught it from Lucius himself, isn't that delicious? Listen to this: 'Lucius Malfoy, who openly scoffed at basic Corvid precautions for months, is paying the price for his arrogance. As recently as last week, when asked why he refused to wear a Bubble-Head Charm in public, Mr Malfoy responded with a sneer, "It's not right for my idiom. A Malfoy fears nothing!! Besides, it causes static which disarranges my hair."'

Severus snorted. "Trust Lucius to put style over substance."

"It would be rather a blow to have the Malfoy line end not with a bang but a 'Caawwww!'," Flitwick observed with a grin. "By the by, Maria, about that idea of yours? I have a little thing to show you..."

***

Pomona turned round slowly in front of the mirrors, the robes' gossamer-thin brown outer layers shifting to show glimpses of scarlet and rose, peach and gold, amber and green. "What d'you think, Minerva?" she asked, frowning. "Not too garish for a holiday party, is it?"

"Not at all, my dear. You look like the wind blowing through October woods, making the leaves dance." She laughed at her own words. "There, that's proof for you: they must be lovely if they make an old Scot like me wax poetic!"

"Nicest thing you could have said," and Pomona went pink with pleasure. "Shame the Bubble-Head gets in the way of wearing a hat, though. A little something on top would really set it off."

"Don't you worry, dear, I have just the thing." Madam Malkin murmured a few words while moving her wand in a circle around Pomona's head, and a delicate pattern of vines and leaves began to form on the surface of the bubble. As if painted with a fine invisible brush the lacy tendrils grew and spread, warm autumn colors echoing those in the robes, until the entire globe was covered except for the part directly in front of Pomona's face. 

The seamstress stepped back to view her handiwork. "How's that?"

Pomona eyes were bright with delight. "Oh, Maria, it's....it's just splendid! However did you do it?"

"I came up with the idea a couple of months ago," Madam Malkin said, pleased. "Since we have to wear these things, I thought, why not make them pretty? So I went to Flitwick, and between the two of us we sorted it out. The colors and patterns can be customized, and it doesn't alter the effectiveness since it's just an overlay on the outside."

Pomona turned her head from side to side, noticing that the leaves on the bubble moved gently in response, as if brushed by a gentle breeze. "You always were a dab hand at Charms, Maria. I wonder if—"

She broke off as the door to the shop flew open and Madam Pomfrey burst in, waving a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. "They've done it! Blessed Asclepius, they've done it!" she cried, excitement plain on her face even through the distortion of the Bubble-Head.

"Done what?" "What is it?" "What have they done?" said all three at once.

"That Corvid treatment, the one with the foxes? The one they've been testing for weeks? It works!" She waved the paper. "St. Mungo's, the Ministry, the Paracelsus Institute, they've all issued formal statements of confirmation!"

Madam Malkin's eyes filled with happy tears, causing her Bubble-Head to fog up slightly. "Oh, Poppy," she sniffed. "That's wonderful! So they can cure it?"

"No, no, this isn't a cure, this prevents people from catching it at all!" The Healer laughed out loud, hugged the paper to her breast. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Wonderful news indeed," Minerva said warmly. "This has something to with foxes, you say? How do they come into it?"

Poppy opened the paper. "Female foxes. There's a substance in their saliva that reacts with Corvid and...I'm not sure, but it tricks it somehow so it can't reproduce. The only drawback is that the substance can't be synthesized, or harvested and stored. It has to come directly from the fox."

"Fox spit." Pomona made a face. "Not recommending we go round kissing vixens, are they? Seems a bit unhygienic. Not to mention the fox might object."

Minerva, who had taken the paper from Poppy to skim the article, shook her head. "Apparently all you need do is let them give you a little nip, just deep enough to get the saliva into the bloodstream. How curious."

"The Paracelsus Institute has two fox Animagi on staff, a real stroke of luck," Poppy said. "They've spent the past week traveling about, soliciting support from the vulpine community. Foxes all across Britain have agreed to help."

"Thank Circe the wizarding world never got into fox-hunting or we'd be in dire straits," Minerva remarked. "Maria, I must go. A leash of foxes lives in the Forbidden Forest and I'll need to speak with them immediately. Or at least the females. Let's hope they're willing to help us out!"

************

_Laddie Luck_

When Severus reached the Great Hall the oaken doors were firmly shut, but he deduced from the faint sounds on the other side that the party was in full swing. On a table beside the door sat a huge cauldron filled with a steaming drink redolent of apples and spices, flanked by rows of empty goblets. Above it, a large sign stated firmly in bright red letters, "Please Show Proof of Vixenation, or Cast Bubble-Head Charm, Before Entering!" 

He pushed up his right sleeve and turned his forearm to display two small nearly-healed puncture wounds. The sign changed to "Enter, Severus Snape! Thank You For Helping to Keep Hogwarts Healthy!" in green, as a goblet levitated itself from the table and a ladle dipped into the punchbowl to fill it with golden-brown liquid.

Severus plucked the floating goblet from the air as the doors swung open, then stepped inside and paused to survey the scene. The room was packed with witches and wizards talking, laughing, eating, drinking -- everyone seemed positively giddy with excitement at simply being able to interact face to face once again, after so many months of solitude and separation.

"Good evening, Severus," said a voice to his right, and he turned to see the Headmistress, resplendent in deep green velvet with a tartan sash. "It's late. I thought perhaps you had determined to give the wild rumpus a miss."

"It is a bit...enthusiastic," he acknowledged. He took a sip of his drink, absently cataloging the various ingredients: cider, cinnamon, nutmeg, and...something else. "What is this?"

"Wassail," she replied. "A traditional Yuletide drink. From the old English _wes þú hál_ , be ye healthy."

"Where did you get it? It's very good. There's something in it I can't quite identify..." He closed his eyes, trying to pin down the elusive flavour.

"Aberforth brought it, as his contribution to the festivities. He said it was an old family recipe, and would bring those who drink it good luck in the new year." She was suddenly apprehensive. "I haven't tried it yet. It hasn't got any goat in it, has it?"

He opened his eyes with a chuckle. "Definitely no goat." As he looked round the room he saw only a few Bubble-Head Charms in evidence, and even those were a delight to the eye, enhanced as they were courtesy of Madam Malkin's charm. "It appears that almost everyone was able to take advantage of the generosity of the Hogwarts foxes."

"Yes, thankfully Kitsune and her friends were quite willing to help, and it only took a few hours to get everyone vixenated, as they're calling it." She nibbled a vol-au-vent. "They all seemed to consider it a great joke on the crows, for some reason, and expressed regret that someone named Aesop was not still alive to write a story about it – 'much better than the one about the cheese,' they said, whatever that means." She shook her head. "Crowpox and fox spit. Really, I think nothing could surprise me now."

To his own surprise, Severus found himself saying, "Is that a challenge? I think I could manage it." He took another sip of wassail to cover his confusion as she shot him a sharp glance.

"Could you now?" She paused, then stepped back to look him over from head to foot. "You're looking rather smart. Are those new robes? Now that _would_ be a surprise." They were quite striking, the way they draped across his shoulders and flowed around him as he moved. And they set off his pale skin and dark eyes beautifully. Unexpectedly Minerva found herself recalling a certain expression she had caught in those eyes now and again over the past few months, and ruthlessly quashed the thought.

"You approve?" He glanced down, encouraged by the warmth in her voice.

"Madam Malkin has outdone herself, they are quite—oh no, Hagrid, you can _not_ bring that creature in here," Minerva interrupted herself, as the half-giant entered with a baby dragon perched on his shoulder. "It's a fire hazard."

The gamekeeper drained his goblet and wiped his lips on his sleeve. "Come on, perfesser, I couldn't leave the little tyke alone, now, could I?" He tickled the hissing lizard under the chin with a huge forefinger. "I'll make sure 'e behaves."

Even as he spoke the dragon, agitated by the noise and crowd, reared up and flapped its wings, licks of flame flickering about its tiny jaws and threatening the highly combustible hat of an elderly witch nearby. As it inhaled in readiness the elderly witch adjusted her boa, in the process dropping her wand, which rolled under the foot of a house elf carrying a bottle on a silver salver, who lost his balance sending both bottle and tray flying into the air. The tray sailed directly in front of the dragon just in time to block its fiery exhalation and save the hat from conflagration, while the bottle arced up, spinning end over end, and then began to fall towards Professor Flitwick, who was explaining a new charm to Amelia Bones.

"...gives stone certain properties of rubber, like so: _Lithoflexo_ ," he said, pointing his wand at the flagstone at his feet. The bottle struck the stone just beside his foot, but instead of shattering it bounced up into the air again, narrowly missing the pyramid of enormous Christmas crackers that presided over the center of the head table, knocking unconscious a stray Cornish pixie flying past bent on mischief, and finally landing in the red velvet hat of a young wizard who had just removed it to adjust the feather, and who stared in mingled confusion and delight at the bottle of Old Ogden's that had apparently fallen from the sky.

"Well now, that was a bit o' luck," said Hagrid cheerfully. "Er, I'd best get this little feller summat to eat," and he hastened away.

Minerva watched him go, as motionless as if she had been _Petrificus_ ed. 

After a long moment, Severus cleared his throat. "I believe I have identified the mystery flavour in the wassail." 

She turned a bemused face towards him. "In the...?"

"Wassail." 

She stared at him as if he were speaking Ogrish. "What on earth are you on about, Severus?"

"I believe Aberforth has added a touch of Felix Felicis." He took another sip and savored it judiciously. "Yes. And very high quality, too." 

"Tsk, these Dumbledores, always thinking they know best," she exclaimed. "I do wish he'd thought to mention it."

"You did say he promised it would bring luck," Severus said dryly.

Minerva sighed. "That he did!" she admitted, amusement warring with annoyance in her tone. "Which appears to be something of an understatement!"

Severus drained his goblet, considered for a moment, and then said, "If you will excuse me, Minerva, I believe I need to send an owl."

***

The clock was striking midnight when Severus appeared beside her, carrying two of the enormous Christmas crackers that had graced the head table. "For you," he said, handing her one.

She eyed it dubiously. "Thank you, Severus, but I believe I can do without paper crowns, novelty trinkets, and bad jokes. Even, or perhaps especially, extra large ones."

"I really do think you should take it."

"Why?"

He hesitated, then admitted, "I have no idea."

A volley of sound drew their attention to the center of the room where others were in the midst of enthusiastically pulling their crackers. Professor Flitwick, a broad smile on his face, was waving a large roll of parchment closely written with musical notes. "Remarkable! The very Dawn Carol we used to sing!" Beside him, Poppy Pomfrey pulled hers and then exclaimed in delighted surprise at the enormous fruitcake that appeared on the table before her.

"Her father's recipe," Minerva guessed. "Felix at work again?"

"So it seems. We are each being given something we have long wanted and missed." Severus looked down at her. "What do you suppose it will give the Headmistress of Hogwarts?"

She hesitated, wondering what might be inadvertently disclosed, then snapped the ends of the tube apart. As suddenly as if someone had cast a _Muffliato_ ; the music and laughter, chatter and noise, all faded to a blessed quiet. She closed her eyes to savor the stillness, but it lasted a mere moment. As quickly as it had gone, the chatter and music returned. She sighed.

"Let me guess: peace and quiet?" Severus said gently.

"Something I have long wanted and missed," Minerva confirmed with a wry look. "Apparently it is not as easy to produce as a fruitcake."

"You deserve it, you know. You drive yourself too hard."

"I shall have to wait, it seems," she said lightly. "Too much to do." She gestured towards his. "And yours?"

He held it up to his ear. "I believe I hear something moving. I wonder..." He took an end in either hand and gave a brisk tug. There was a tiny explosion and a puff of smoke, and there before them...

"A miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer." he whispered, remembering his mother's voice, a picture book, and Christmas Eves long past. 

The little animals, no more than three inches tall, pranced and tossed their antlered heads. Tiny bells on their red leather harness jingled merrily, while the brass fittings and silver runners on the sleigh gleamed as if freshly polished. 

"Your mother's Christmas tradition," Minerva said softly.

"Yours, too," he reminded her.

"Alas, too small to stow away in."

As if in response, the lead reindeer stamped a minuscule hoof and then with a leap the team was airborne. They circled once, twice, three times and then zoomed jingling out the door of the Hall. Severus watched them go, a smile playing about his lips, then turned to Minerva. "Headmistress, would you be kind enough to step outside with me for a moment?" 

She hesitated. "Why?"

"I promised you a surprise, did I not?" 

Putting a hand on her elbow he drew her out of the room. Together they walked down the stairs, through the great arched doors, and out into the courtyard. Eight shaggy-coated reindeer stood there, breath steaming in the icy air. Their red leather harness was bright against the brown fur and hung with golden bells, and the gaily painted sleigh behind them -- just large enough for two -- was piled with furs to keep its passengers warm.

Minerva glanced suspiciously from Severus to the sleigh. "What is this?" 

"You said you wanted peace and quiet," he said matter-of-factly. "There's a very nice country inn on the shore of Loch Tummel, and I can't think of a more appropriate way to get there." He took a piece of parchment from his pocket and showed it to her. "Reservations for three nights, confirmed."

Was it apprehension or anticipation she felt? "Christmas at a Muggle country inn? Surely they've been fully booked for months!"

"Luckily, they had an unexpected cancellation." 

"And just when did you learn that?" she demanded, trying for indignation but only managing curiosity.

"About an hour ago." He replaced the parchment in his pocket. "Something told me we would need it."

She raised an eyebrow. "We, Severus? I assure you, I'm far too old and set in my ways for romance. So if this is intended as your surprise--"

"Oh, that's not the surprise."

"Isn't it?"

"No. The surprise is that you're going to say yes."

She flushed. "What makes you think..."

He leaned closer. "Aberforth's punch," he whispered, his breath warm on her cheek.

"I haven't had any," she pointed out, trying to think of the reasons why this was inappropriate, or foolish, or simply a Very Bad Idea.

"But I have." He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, sending a tingle of heat down her spine. 

"Which means that everything you attempt will be successful?" she said, her eyes beginning to sparkle.

"Obviously," he drawled, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

The lead reindeer snorted and stamped an impatient hoof, giving her a severe look as if to say "Get on with it, woman!" and Minerva threw back her head and laughed as she had not laughed in months. She was still laughing as Severus handed her into the sleigh and swung in beside her, tucking the furs around her with unexpected tenderness.

"Well?" he asked with a smile. "How do you feel?"

"Lucky," she said as she leaned against him, and felt him chuckle as his arm went round her shoulders to pull her close. "Very lucky indeed."


End file.
